Old Age Despair

OLD AGE DESPAIR

What good the golden hoard, the noble fame
Of heroes or the praise of younger Man?
The hand of Death makes Man but a mere name
And none may linger longer than the span
Of years which fickle Fate allots.

We start to die when we begin to live.
The ages pass and we and all our kin
Are dead and those who died can only give
Scant recompense for all we did. Oh! What a sin
To live at all. Our whole life rots!

Is there a God who looks upon our toil?
Does He not watch our progress and approve
Our every act? Are we but soil
That lie beneath this Earth never to move?
Man dies when he is dead and ties the knots
Around him in the silent graveyard plots.

                                                                              Hugh L.M.Wyles 2003